


Jilted

by BoxWineConfessions



Series: Jilted [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bathing/Washing, Bittersweet, Loss of Virginity, M/M, One Night Stands, and possibly a little bit more, naked photography
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-17
Updated: 2017-03-17
Packaged: 2018-10-06 19:13:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10342773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoxWineConfessions/pseuds/BoxWineConfessions
Summary: There’s something almost too comforting about finding solace with another human after rejection. There’s something soft around the edges when the rejection is implicit. There are no harsh words. There is no messy discarding of another person and the potential between you and them. So, the next human that you find that is willing to actually have you is always a treasure to be held with shaky and nervous hands.In these situations, it’s quite easy to fall for someone for the sake of not being alone.Phichit's back is arched so perfectly that the sight alone makes Chris want to come.  Suds from the bath cling to Phichit’s skin when he rises from the water the way that tight lace underwear adheres to skin. His voice is husky, demanding, "You should take a photo."





	

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Art, Stoney, and other discord pals who took a looksee at this and helped me get my shit together <3

“So I guess,” Phichit loosens his tie and drains the liquid in his long stemmed glass. It’s bright green and looks like plastic in texture and hue. “I mean, I’m happy for them. I really am. Just surprised.”

“Ah,” Chris locks eyes with Phichit and smiles knowingly. “I feel the same way. As if my best friend had been keeping something personal from me. Or worse still, I was too inept to see.”

Chris leans into the balcony railing. Of course he notices the way that Phichit’s body slides into his own. Phichit’s movements are exaggerated, only slightly. It’s the movement of a person that has had enough to drink to think that they’re being subtle and are too drunk to know that they’re anything but.

Phichit closes the space between them. Phichit’s mouth is soft. He tastes like nothing but alcohol. Chris deepens the kiss almost instantly. He’s not above sorting out his feelings with another jilted soul in the sheets.

But he works his hand underneath Phichit’s belt, and untucks his dress shirt. Phichit’s skin is clammy with sweat. He still tastes like alcohol. Chris pulls back reluctantly, because it would be so nice tonight. “Phichit, you’re drunk.”

* * *

 

The buzzer rings at 1:47 p.m. the next day. Chris knows this for a fact because he wasn’t quite ready for company. His guest was early, and the preparations were unfinished. He looks at the grandfather clock in the hallway as he brushed passed it on his way to the intercom. “Come on up. Seventh floor. Forgive me that I don’t come down for you myself. I’m not quite prepared.”

“Finish waxing Chris, hurry!”

Chris laughs into the intercom. “I would never hide my natural allure.” Chris looks at his bare feet, uncovered legs, and the bright red silk of the robe he’d had on. Phichit Chulanont was not known for being shy or conventional by any means. However, perhaps it would be best if he slipped into something a little less comfortable until he could further assess the situation and the trajectory of the visit.

Chris undoes the chain lock, opens the door slightly, and walks off to his room to quickly find something that is both appropriately subdued and stunning.

“Phichit-kun,” He’s heard Yuuri call him this before and wondered how it would sound coming from him. A good pet name takes time, and in its wake are dozens of others that fail. This is at least what Chris tells himself when he tries to speak fondly to Phichit and he fails. “Don’t be so tense,” Chris returns to find him awkwardly lingering in the foyer. He’s glancing at all of his hosts’ fine trinkets. Flemish paintings, hung tapestries, carved molding, and this was just the entrance to the flat. He looks stiff and awkward, and the tension only continues when Chris moves to take his coat and hang it on the rack. “I won’t bite, unless of course you ask it of me.”

Perhaps that wasn’t the correct thing to say to put Phichit’s mind at ease.

“How can I relax,” it's hard to gauge his affect over the black travel mask. “If you’re sporting massive bush?” Phichit finally pulls his black travel mask away from his mouth and flashes a smile. Toothy, wide, and undeniably pinched with nervousness. “This is a little bit different than meeting up after a tournament for drinks isn’t it?”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Chris responds. “That much different.” Because Phichit’s already seen him dance. They’ve already drunkenly poured their souls out to one another in a drunken stupor a few days prior at the gala. He’s already had the privilege of having the booze uncloud his mind the moment his hands left the soft patch of skin on his lower back and drifted further underneath the waistband of his still buttoned dress pants so that right when he finally got a nice firm handful of ass, he realized that going further would be wrong.

“Would you like something to drink? I’m having scotch.” Chris approaches the bar in the sitting room and refils his tumblr first with crystal clear ice cubes, and then he pours from a delicate glass decanter. “There’s also champagne, wine, if you’d like something sweeter I can make you a cocktail.” He can remember Phichit having several drinks in different shades of day glow and neon when they last met, pink and blue, and green.

“Yes!” Phichit says quickly. “Can you make me an appletini? It has um-”

“Darling, I of all people should never judge, but no,” Chris says quite simply.

Phichit’s chestnut colored eyes go wide and his mouth slackens in combination of confusion, embarrassment, and that sudden painful reminder that athletes sometimes get that they cannot always have what they want in their down time.

Chris ribs him softly, “Let me take care of you mon chou,” ah perhaps that would be the pet name for Phichit. “My brother tends the finest cocktail lounge in Romandy.” Chris explains as he moves about the bar for all the things he needs. He thought he was past the point in his life where he’d make drinks with maraschino cherries for lovers, but perhaps Phichit would be the exception to the rule. ”Christmas time, or New Year's Eve, when you get more than a few Giacometti’s in the same room. You need more than one bar tender. He’s always forcing me to help.”

“Really?” Phichit chirps, as if they were in a large group of men’s skaters and just simply lingered toward the back of the group too slowly and for a bit too long. It were as if Phichit were about to flit away at a moment’s notice and dart toward the front of the group to hang off of Yuuri’s free arm and lean into him with every bit of his warmth and his energy. It was as if there were no implicit promises made the other night when Chris pushed him away, or when Chris offered him his address, or when Phichit called and asked to come over.

“You should post a picture sometime. Of you and your brother.”

“Hm? Oh,” Chris reaches for a stirrer and gently taps it inside the glass. “I have some. I’ll show you.” He hands the drink to Phichit and silently hopes that if Phichit leaves here with anything at all, it’s an honorable and sophisticated drink he can order at parties. “Try. Amaretto sour.”

Phichit gingerly sips the liquid. Chris tries his best not to stare at the way his full lips press against the rim of the glass. “Oh Chris.”

Ah, this was unfair. He’s being toyed with. The combination of innocence and damning curiosity of younger skaters will be the death of him.

“This is really good.”

“I’m glad you like it. Come, I was sitting and relaxing before you arrived.” The sofa isn’t ideal, but they can drink and they can talk, and they can both make sure that Phichit’s sure before Chris leads him delicately by the wrist to the bedroom. Phichit sinks into the far cushion nearest the large bay window, and so Chris slides into the middle cushion. Close enough that Phichit can feel the heat of his body, but not close enough to actually touch. “It’s unfortunate that it’s still so cold, or else we could ist on the balcony.”

The apartment overlooks the city, and even though they’re only a few stories up, the view of the old stone lined streets and ivy lined flats can be breathtaking.

“It’s okay. Show me pictures. Show me your brother, and you tending bar.”

“Of course,” Chris reaches for his phone and scrolls to the appropriate album. “Here we are at grand-pere’s house for Christmas.”

It’s a shot of him and David behind the makeshift bar. Chris has two long stemmed martini glasses in either hand, while David performs for the camera. A bottle is perched precariously behind his back and he pours at an odd angle. “David is always playing things up when there is a camera.”

“Unlike you,” Phichit makes a small sound that’s somewhere between a scoff and a snort. It’s undignified and unrefined, and it sounds like bells to Chris, who is a fool for boyish charm.

“That’s an oversimplification. Life is a performance regardless of whether or not there is a camera. It would seem that you already know this.” Phichit does not consistently medal, but he has the most Instagram followers among the male skaters, recently passing Viktor. Chris flicks through a few more photos. “We always have so many cakes at Christmas,” Chris explains as he scrolls through the endless stream of dessert photos.

“Here I am saving David’s life from certain death in front of his children and his fiance. In this one, they’re at an outdoor rink together.” David clings to his shoulder and skates on the middle of his blades.

“You’re close? Must be nice. I don’t have siblings.”

“We’re close enough....Show me yours.” Chris cocks an eyebrow. It serves as a soft reminder to Phichit why he came. It serves as a brutal reminder to Chris that this was merely small talk. A part of the performance, and a lull between acts. Time to build, and time to develop.

Phichit doesn’t skip a beat. “Well the good stuff goes on Instagram. I don’t hide things like being a secret bartender from the world.” A smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. It’s asymmetrical, and if Chris could imagine an ounce of cockiness in the other skater, he’d perceive it as a smirk. “Hm,” Phichit taps through several albums rapidly. “Yuuri and I bought a lot of salted licorice yesterday? Here are our reactions.” Phichit plays a video. It’s thirty seconds of him and Yuri grimacing at the camera and going “ew.”

Chris laughs.

“Ah, you’ve seen my hamsters in other photos but,” He shows Chris a few photos of each one: dark brown, golden, and gray. “Oh, my aunt who lives with us has this awful bird.” Chris looks at the photo. It’s a large green Macaw. It’s wings are stretched out wide, and it looks quite menacing. Chris believes it when Phichit says it’s awful. “It bites and swears at us.” He explains further. “Speaking of photos, what is up with that painting?” Phichit gestures to the opposite wall.

It’s hidden among other paintings, and other knickknacks, but it undeniably grabs the attention. “Ah the ugly duckling,” it’s what his host calls her anyway. The painting is of a sallow child with a pinched expression. Poor thing has one eyebrow that spans from one end of her forehead to the other. It matches beautifully with the lavender crinolines she’s dressed in. “Baby Frieda.”

“Can I take a photo of that monstrosity?”

“I can take one of you, poking her eyebrow.”

The pair rise from the sofa, and Chris takes several shots. “Will you be tagging me?” Chris asks.

“Want me to?” Phichit shrugs as if he’s torn between a photo with a friend, and being discreet.

“Whatever makes you comfortable.”

“This doesn’t seem like your kind of taste.” Phichit knits his coal black brows together tightly. “I’d always imagined you’d have something more...modern?” Phichit wets a pinky with his tongue and smooths down each eyebrow in a very practiced motion. “I mean, it’s like an antique store in here.”

Chris laughs. “Ah, my dear friend owns this flat. She’s gone on sabbatical to Kenya of all places to write her next novel. But you know.” Chris takes another sip of his own drink. “It’s good for those few strange, and cloudy days after Worlds. The ones where there’s no competition looming, and no new performance to learn.” He locks eyes with Phichit, and holds his gaze steady. “It’s kind of a relief, and kind of like losing an old friend isn’t it?”

“You get that too Chris?” Phichit leans closer to him, so that their noses are almost touching. Chris can feel hot puffs of breath from Phichit’s mouth. “I don’t know what to do. I could skate The King and the Skater for the rest of my life. Maybe not the routine, but the song. It’s perfect for me and for who I am, and I’m not ready to give that up yet.”

Chris nods. He does know. “Salut d’amour,” he says wistfully. It feels like so long ago, perhaps because it has been quite long ago.

“Huh?”

“It’s a piece. My first Worlds medal.”

“I don’t know it,” and then he follows up too quickly, “play it.”

“Sure,” Chris extends his hand toward Phichit. “Do you need your drink freshened?”

Phichit drains the rest of the drink. The cubes of ice in the bottom clink together. His raspberry macaroon tongue darts out across his lips chasing the last bits of syrup that had sunk to the bottom.

God help him.

Chris fixes them both another pair of drinks, and then docks his phone into the speakers which were artfully hidden at the mantle behind a very large piece of venetian brass. The first soft notes of the piano chime softly in solo, and then the violin cuts in and dominates the piece. They come together and when the violin goes high, the piano goes soft. They trade off in tandem.

For a moment, Chris does nothing but think about that first time on the podium. It was one of many times standing next to Viktor. It’s strange how he always knows that it’s him and it’s Viktor but the third slot remains nebulous in his memory, as if it didn’t really matter at all.

Chris hears the clink of ice again followed by the sound of glass against glass table top. Suddenly,Phichit is in his space once more, his hands are on his shoulders. “I didn’t anticipate that you of all people would be shy Chris. Aren’t you going to ask me to dance?”

Chris stows his tumbler up on the mantle. His hands glide to Phichit’s slim waist and angular hips. “Phichit, these matters must be handled delicately,” he says with a perfectly timed tug of his arms that push Phichit nearer still such that their bodies are crushed together. A faint gasp, and widened eyes. “Can I kiss you again?”

A faint “Finally,” trickles from the corner of Phichit’s mouth, but Chris’ lips meet Phichit’s before there’s time for additional protest of his technique.

Chris keeps his grasp firm on Phichit’s waist keeping him in perfect step with the music. The only fraction of an error allowed is when they move across the floor, and the rug ends and the wood floor begins. He loves the piece after all.

Phichit tastes like simple syrup and amaretto. His lips are slightly tacky, as if he’d put on chapstick not long ago. It’s no surprise when Phichit tilts his head, slotting his mouth opposite of Chris’ and deepens the kiss.

All of this must seem so calculated, and Chris will admit that it is. He’s planned the afternoon down to the very last detail. Unlike Phichit, he’s done this before. He knows what works, and what feels good. That’s all he wants, is for this to be good and for this to be memorable. He wants Phichit to think about this in a decade and blush.

The thought occurs to Chris for the first time that it must be slightly terrifying to be seduced, even if you want it so badly. He wouldn’t know. Such deep desire and longing never really been reciprocated for him to this degree.

Phichit kisses with just the right amount of pressure. He knows when to push back, and when to yield in order to maximize the experience for both of them. Chris can feel this in the heat that’s radiating from Phichit’s mouth, and his body, and his gaze. He’s the kind of person that’s been kissed many times, tried to give himself to someone many times, but has never succeeded.

Phichit is none too pleased about this as their drunken discussion at the gala revealed. Phichit had pined, and hoped, and through no true fault of his own failed to act on any of it properly while he had the opportunity to do so with Yuuri.

Perhaps it is a bit unfortunate for Phichit, but Chris intends to soothe both himself and Phichit’s scars of the heart in the only way that he knows how. The piece is over, has been over for quite some time. Their lips pull apart. Phichit lowers himself from his near tip toed position. “So, what’s next?”

“I’d intended to pour us a bath. It’s important to get clean,”

“Before we get dirty?” Phichit quips, as if he’d anticipated the line from a mile away.

“Yes dearest.”

* * *

 

The tub is a crisp white shade of enamel, and it rests on large brass claw feet. The back is curved upward so the bather can comfortably rest in a semi reclined condition. There’s a showerhead attached to a flexible tube hose at the faucet.  
Across from the tub is a marble wash basin. Next to that is a large wooden vanity. It clashes beautifully with the marble and the porcelain textures in the room.

They undress one another slowly. Kisses are scattered across their bodies as they scatter their clothes across the ivory colored floor tiles.

Chris can’t help but shoot Phichit a toothy and wolfish grin. He can’t help but flex his chest muscles and display his body for Phichit’s scrutiny. “You’ll find Phichit, I have just enough hair.”

“Highly debatable. Look at me.” So, Chris does.

Phichit shoots a glance at his own body. He’s mostly smooth across his chest and his stomach. Only a small neatly trimmed patch of hair rests at the base of his cock. “Smooth is better,” but Phichit’s actions betray his words. He rakes a hand down the groomed hair on Chris’ chest, and buries his fingers in the thick, albeit neatly trimmed patch of hair just above his cock.

Chris doesn’t draw a bath right away. “This isn’t exactly what I thought you had in mind.” Chris is tall enough so that he can stand behind Phichit in the tub and carefully shampoo his hair.

“Ah, but,” Chris rakes his hands over scalp and through thick black hair. “What is that cliched saying? Those who wait, come?”

“Do you keep a little booklet of those? And if so, how do you ever get any?”

“Well,” Chris leans in closer, makes sure to brush his budding arousal against Phichit’s ass. “You’re still here. It must be working.” Chris gives him soft little kiss bites from his neck to his shoulder. All the while he’s careful to avoid any errant shampoo suds.

The sound Phichit makes is far better than any classical composition. Phichit rocks against Chris, and it takes every ounce of energy and well tested control that he has to continue on as planned.  
“But isn’t it nice to be pampered?” Chris turns the water on, and grabs the showerhead. “Doesn’t it feel good?”

“Maybe but,” Phichit closes his eyes and leans back into Chris. “It’s not like I’m some blushing virgin,” he keeps talking even with the water streaming down his face. “That needs to be seduced before I’ll give it up.”

“Hm,” Chris considers this for a moment as he continues to run his hands through Phichit’s hair. It’s thickness and shine is mesmerizing.

“Okay, I’m technically a virgin, but I’m ready you know? Like I’ve thought about this. I want this.”

“Phichit, I want you to let me want you then. The only way I know how.”

“Fine but,” Phichit turns around and plucks the showerhead from his hand. “Let me seduce you too.”

Phichit’s nails are clipped short. They rake against his scalp. They play at the edges where blonde hair meets brown. Long fingers rake through his curls without so much of a hint of snags or tangles. The feather light touches feel magnificent, but Chris would never admit that it makes his knees a little bit weak. Instead he’d blame it on bending them in order to close the height gap between them. He’d blame it on the feeling of Phichit’s chest rising and falling against his. He’d blame it on the electric feel of their cocks pressed together now that he’s turned to face Phichit.

He wasn’t expecting this.

After their hair is sufficiently rinsed, Chris fills the tub with water. To the steaming hot water he adds his favorite lavender scented bubble bath along with a particularly soothing mint concoction that he admits is stolen from his hosts’ trove of niceties.

Together they sink into the fragrant water. Chris leans against the long back of the tub, and Phichit rests against his chest. Phichit extends his arm upward, and splays his palm against the back of Chris’ damp scalp. He toys with the short brown hair there.

“Tell me Phichit darling,” but Chris is unsure if Phichit will be able to respond with much of anything. Their positioning gives Chris the perfect access to his body. He toys with Phichit nipples, it’s a combination of rubbing, twisting, and soft gentle pinching that gets the other skater harder and needier right away. His hands splay out on delicate rib bones and his compact muscular stomach. Of course the only oversight to this lovely little scene is that the bubbles obscure Phichit’s view. “Do you finger yourself?”

Phichit laughs again. It’s an airy giggle that’s interrupted by a sharp moan.

Oops. His left hand has traveled downward to tease at Phichit, hard and straining while the other hand holds Phichit steady to his chest.

“Chris ah-” The water churns between them, and laps at their skin. “I don’t know how to tell you this but-”

“So don’t,” Chris leaves gentle little love bites down his neck. Although he has to admit, it’s shocking that Phichit hasn’t. “Let me-” He wraps a gentle hand around Phichit’s cock and strokes once, twice. Intentionally, the touch is maddeningly soft. Just enough to pique interest and maintain the urgency between them.

“You didn’t invent sex,” Phichit chokes out finally. “Of course I do,” he says in response to the initial question.

“But Phichit, I improve.”

Chris cups his chin and pulls him in for a long searing kiss. Bless long arms. He uncurls his right arm from around Phichit’s chest and reaches over the thick porcelain edge of the tub for the bottle of lube he’d placed there earlier.

Chris wasn’t exactly a religious person. Years of catholic school made him feel apathetic at best. Then he discovered silicone lube a number of years ago. On a spiritual level, he had to reevaluate everything he’d considered about the existence of god and higher powers.

“Show me then,” Chris purrs into his ear and slips the bottle into his hand.

“So now you wanna be seduced.” He readjusts himself so that he’s standing on his knees. Chris rises too, and moves to the opposite end of the tub. In their adjusted position, Phichit’s front is facing the long sloped back of the tub. Soon, Chris will bend him over it, and take him from behind.

There’s a sharp click of the bottle being opened, before it’s once again relegated to the floor by the tub. Phichit stands on his knees. His back is arched so perfectly that the sight alone makes Chris want to come. Suds from the bath cling to Phichit’s skin when he rises from the water the way that tight lace underwear adheres to skin. Phichit parts the thin filmy layer of bubbles and slowly works a single digit inside.

“You should take a photo Chris.” Phichit turns, and locks eyes with him. With a single eyebrow raised, Phichit’s mouth pulls into another grin. “So you can remember this.” Chris takes back everything he thought before. Phichit is cocky. Phichit is arrogant. Phichit now understands the full extent of his goals and desires, and seems determined to exploit them.

Chris is thankful that he remembered to undock his phone from the speaker in the livingroom. Droplets of water distort the screen and make the touch screen barely functional, but he dutifully snaps photos all the same.

Phichit stretching himself with a second finger.

_Snap_

Phichit turns towards him. His bright pink tongue darts outward and brushes against his lips. His eyes are half lidded.

_Snap_

Phichit’s skin contrasts so sharply with the porcelain of the tub and the bubbles of the bath. Chris reaches out and palms a firm cheek with his hand. Phichit’s skin is slippery from the soap. “Chris,” his voice is husky and exposed.

_Snap Snap_

He doesn’t need a photo. The image of his fingertips digging in slightly to muscular flesh will be burned into his memory for forever. “You look so good like this.” Chris puts the phone back down on the floor. His movements are no longer graceful and controlled; they’re reckless and disjointed. The phone clatters onto the tile floor.

“I’m ready.” Chris spreads his cheeks and watches the two fingers that are buried deep inside. Phichit looks stretched tight already. As if to confirm his suspicions, Phichit’s breath hitches slightly. “I think.”

“Allow me.” Chris stands on his knees behind Phichit. He guides his free hand to the tall rim of the tub silently instructing him to hold on.

“Going to show me those improvements?”

“Teach you,” Chris watches as Phichit removes one finger, and then the other. He kisses away the soft little breathy cries that he makes at the feeling of emptiness. His first finger slides into the knuckle easily. At the second, he has to stop for a moment, and add more lube. Phichit is so impossibly tight.

“Ah, Chris,” Phichit captures his lips in a kiss that is both lazy and lingering. “Your fingers are so much longer.”

“Feels good right?” Chris scissors his fingers. Wide and narrow, wide and narrow, until Phichit relaxes against him. When Phichit starts pushing back against his fingers, he adds a third.

“Yeah. Really good.”

Initially, the plan had been to keep limit the bath to foreplay only. He’d wanted very much to wrap Phichit up in soft fluffy white towels while he was still hard and straining and force him to wait a little bit longer. Move them to the bedroom, and work their way through every position imaginable.

Chris has no qualms in ignoring the slight ache in his shins and his knees from resting them against the porcelain floor of the tub, but Phichit should be as comfortable as possible. First times should be nothing but pleasure, pampering, and not the slightest bit of distraction whether it was from cooling bath water or stings and aches from being in one position for too long.

But Chris’ resolve is rapidly crumbling.

The feeling of Phichit’s tight wet heat clenching and unclenching around his fingers is a far stronger intoxicant than the scotch he’d been drinking, and given the circumstances leading up to this moment, he’d very much like to be drunk.

“But Chris,” more kisses. A simple dip of the tongue, a breathy sigh into his open mouth, Phichit’s technique was flighty and noncommittal. “I actually am ready now.”

“Then I shouldn’t keep you waiting.” Chris removes his fingers one by one and watches Phichit clench around them. “Arch your back again for me,” he presses down onto the small of Phichit’s back, and grabs his cock by the base. He rubs his length up and down between Phichit’s soapy cheeks once, twice, three times, because he’s just too pretty and too coy to not tease relentlessly.

“If you come before we get to it, I’m going to be upset.”

Chris thrusts in slowly, and gives his partner plenty of time to adjust. His hands flutter to Phichit’s chest so that he can feel every stutter and every gasp escape his chest. He listens and waits for his breathing to even out. He waits for Phichit to push himself all the way down on his cock instead of simply burying himself to the hilt right away. These things must be done delicately.

When Phichit finally pushes all the way back onto Chris’ cock, and he’s completely sheathed within, he purrs into the other man’s ear. “Phichit, dearest. As I am about to show you I come often, but never early.”

“Seriously,” Phichit rolls his hips. “How do lines like that work?” Instead of punctuating his statement with a single long and luxurious movement, he keeps going. He keeps pushing back on Chris’ cock, and rolling his hips just right. As if the question isn’t so much rhetorical, so much as something that Phichit would really like to know.

The sight of Phichit, round and tight pushing him in deeper and deeper is everything. Chris grabs Phichit’s ass once more and, allows his fingers to dig into impossibly soft slippery skin. Immediately, he finds a rhythm that matches the steady circular movements of Phichit’s hips. “So pretty Phichit.” He runs a soap slicked finger over Phichit’s stretched hole.

“So big, Chris,” Phichit pants. Their kiss is open mouthed, sloppy, unrefined. The cooling bath water sloshes and churns with the movements of their bodies, and spills out the sides of the tub when Chris thrusts especially deep. “Ah-Ah.”

Chris realizes in that moment the photos he took are useless without the accompanying little noises that Phichit makes all for him. Will he recall that in a year, or two years, or even three? When Phichit’s career is at it’s peak, and he’s finally up on the podium and Chris has long since retired, will he remember those little details with such clarity as he hears them now?

“Flattery will get you everywhere.” Reluctantly, Chris lets go of Phichit’s left cheek. He reaches around to the front, and finally touches Phichit’s cock. “This is what you want?” Chris says thickly into his ear.

“Ye-es.’ The word slowly falls out of Phichit’s lips the same way a bolt of silk would unfurl and tumble down steps. It’s long and there are too many syllables and stutters, and each one is tinged with need.

“You’re so good for me.” Gone are the soft teasing touches from before. Chris tugs at Phichit with a tight fist. Phichit makes more soft little gasps and desperate cries. He screws his eyes shut, and bites his lower lip just so.

“So pretty.” Phichit’s graceful and well timed movements against his own become out of synch, and disjointed as he’s torn between thrusting into Chris’ hand and pushing back against his cock. He wants all of it at once.

“So tight.” But it’s clear that what Phichit wants the most is to come.

“So soft.” Chris wants that too.

“Phichit, I just can’t contain myself.” Although everything he’s gasped into Phichit’s ear is the truth, this statement is somehow more true than others. Phichit’s playfulness combined with his inexperience and the unforgiving tightness makes it hard for him to make good on his promise to not come too soon.

“Phichit, darling, please.”

“Chris, I’m-”

“Perfect.”

Phichit comes into his hand, and Chris is only a few strokes behind. He comes buried deep inside of Phichit. He watches with great satisfaction as he pulls out, and his come, thick and milky, spills out of Phichit’s stretched hole.

He should’ve asked if that was alright before he let temptation get the better of him.

Chris moves quickly. He drains the tub, and turns on the water to the shower. He makes sure that it’s steaming hot. He helps Phicit up off the floor of the tub. The other skater’s legs are shaky and Chris simply holds him under the spray.

Chris’ hands find their way back to Phichit’s ass.

“I need a minute.” Phichit’s face is buried in his chest. His voice is soft, and there’s not a hint of teasing or playful bite there.

“You’ll want to be clean.” Chris knows the undignified feeling of slipping into a fresh pair of underwear and feeling come dripping out. He uses a single digit and the softest touch he can manage. Soap, warm water, and gentle touches, it wasn’t meant to arouse but Phichit is young. Young and addicted to any slip of affection that is given. The soft penetration of a single digit gets him half hard again almost immediately.

Phichit moans in protest when he extracts his finger.

“It’s okay Phichit. Let’s go to bed.”

Phichit allows him to dry him off in large fluffy towels, and blow dry his hair at the low vanity that’s crammed into the bathroom corner. Chris wraps him in one of his short silk robes, and leads him to bed. The benign and domestic actions do nothing to extinguish Phichit’s passion. He simply gets progressively harder at the attention.

Chris has to take another photo. The way that Phichit pokes out, hard and leaking from the soft pink silk of his robe is too pretty to ignore.

“Chris,” hands tug at the loose knot of his dark red robe. Phichit’s hand slips inside, and then another. “Can I ride you?”

“How could I refuse?”

The second time around feels no less amazing. Phichit is still impossibly tight, but he’s worked open now. His movements are graceful. His body is smooth. Chris splays his large hands across Phichit’s narrow chest and wonders how he could even for a moment feel jilted when it means he gets to spend time with such an enticing creature?

* * *

 

They eat cucumber sandwiches in bed and drink Perrier from long stemmed crystal glasses. Chris is in too deep and gone too soft. He’d never let a partner eat in bed, and yet he doesn’t even question Phichit’s soft whine-request, “ah, Chris the kitchen is so far.”

“Thank you,” Phichit says in between small bites. He rests his elbows on the floral printed duvet and balances the tea sandwich daintily between his fingers.

Chris knows that he’s not talking about the food, or the drinks, or even the sex. This goes deeper, and yet it’s still so superficial. Chris knows the feeling well too. There’s something almost too comforting about finding solace with another human after rejection. There’s something soft around the edges and cast in soft blush lighting about when it happens and the rejection is implicit.

There are no harsh words. There is no messy discarding of another person and the potential between you and them. So, the next human that you find that is willing to actually have you is always a treasure to be held with shaky and nervous hands.

In these situations, it’s quite easy to fall for someone for the sake of not being alone.

“I was thinking of going to the senate square this evening. Take some pictures...I believe there is a concert tonight too.”

Chris knows what is about to be asked of him. For both of their sakes, he should say no. Phichit knows enough to understand that love and sex are easily disentangled. What he does not understand is how easily the separated roots twist back together. They should keep this simple, end things cleanly. Keep it to a few hours in the same country, a few photos, and a timeless memory.

“You want a photographer?”

“I want you to come with me,” Phichit laughs like the very idea of other intentions were preposterous. “Unless you wouldn’t want to be seen with me.”

Chris feels a new heat and a new burn between them now. One that doesn’t stem from their bodies, or from their mutual lust, but from something more dangerous. The possibility of combining lust with friendship, and physicality with mutual respect results in a heat that only stems from playing with fire. He’s been burned so many times before that he feels scraped raw and reluctant to try once again.

“Don’t be silly Phichit. I’ll find some clothes. I know of a nice restaurant in the area. We can get dinner later.” 

 


End file.
